


When the Night Comes In

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Aziraphale finds out (among other things) why and when Crowley took up the human habit of sleep.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 78





	When the Night Comes In

Crowley woke in a strange bed, swathed in a thick, soft duvet. He took one sniff and knew it belonged to a certain angel. He yawned and stretched, and slowly sat up, blinking sleep away.

_“Bit of a long day…”_

_“You are falling asleep, my dear._ ”

_“I should go home…”_

_“Nonsense. Go to sleep here.”_

The snatches of late-night conversation filtered through his foggy memory as Crowley threw back the bed cover. _Too warm_. He was alone, upstairs in Aziraphale’s bedroom. They had spent the entire evening and much of the night drinking wine, and talking about Armageddon, body swapping, thwarting Heaven and Hell, being free. 

They had not yet talked about more important things. 

Crowley yawned again. He glanced at the bedside clock—it was two in the morning. Somehow, he’d lost his usual clothes, and somehow, he had miraculously acquired pyjamas of a heavenly sky blue. He smiled as he fingered the smooth, satin top. _Angelic pyjamas_. 

He considered, for half a second, snapping the color to black, but he didn’t. If Aziraphale wanted him to feel a little less demonic—and truth to tell, since Hell had disowned him, perhaps that was precisely what he was—then he wouldn’t argue. Though his regular clothes had better still be his favorite color, and not splashed through with _tartan_.

The bedroom was awfully warm on this late summer night. Crowley climbed out of the bed. He crossed to the window, pulled aside the heavy drapes, and tried to open it. The wood creaked as he pushed upward on the bottom pane. Did Aziraphale never open his bedroom window? He checked the lock, made sure it was open, and tried again, grunting as he got it up all of one inch, with a good deal more noise. 

_Well, honestly_. Crowley gave up on the old-fashioned method and snapped his fingers. The window flew up, and cool night air wafted into the room. He spied a small bench, and pulled it over to the window, and sat there, enjoying a light, refreshing breeze. As he glanced upwards, a few hazy clouds parted, and a handful of stars twinkled in the darkness.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. His efforts with the window must have roused his dear friend.

Crowley turned to look at the open door as Aziraphale walked in. “Sorry. Your window sticks.”

Aziraphale, still in his usual old-fashioned suit, though without the coat, stood in the doorway, a book in one hand. “Ah. No, I never open it.” He set his book down on a side table and crossed to the window, where he stood close by the bench upon which Crowley sat. “I find the city noise distracting.”

There was a little traffic even at this late hour, and Crowley could hear a few people talking as they walked past below. Nothing that disturbing for someone like him, who could sleep quite soundly when he wished to. “You don’t care much for sleep, though.”

“Sometimes I do. Not often. I find that a simple resting of my eyes for oh, half an hour or an hour, will be all that I need.” Aziraphale lay a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, just a light touch. “You enjoy sleep so much—when did you take it up? I can’t recall.”

That touch—it was now a gentle caress—sent a wave of deep affection through him. Crowley sighed. He didn’t need to reflect over his long tenure on Earth to remember when sleeping had become a regular habit. “After the Great Flood.”

Aziraphale’s hand paused in its slow, circular caress of his shoulder for a moment, then he started again as he said, “Not a time I wish to remember.” 

“No.” Crowley shivered. It didn’t matter what words anyone offered—human, angel, demon—to try to explain the horrors inflicted upon the Earth and its people, and falling back on ineffable plans was merely a hollow excuse for a God he wanted nothing to do with. “It didn’t matter how far I traveled to get away from that place. The ends of the Earth, even. Didn’t make a difference—I couldn’t get the screams of those children out of my head.” So many of them, so helpless. “Except in sleep. That’s when I took it up. Everything disappeared in sleep, every single night.”

“I heard them too, my dear.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “They stayed in my mind, too.”

“Been a long time now.” Those voices had faded over the centuries, as had all the human voices from all the wars and the famines, from all the plagues and all the natural disasters, if you could call them _natural_ , when he knew whose hand truly guided everything that ever happened in this world.

Crowley gazed up at those few stars struggling to shine through the cloud bank. “Heaven is terribly full, isn’t it.” Must be billions of human souls dwelling there, on the levels created for them, the vast circles of Heaven which he had never seen, though he had heard of their wondrous beauty. Endless gardens always in bloom, wide shallow rivers of milk and honey, dwelling places built of white marble standing on streets of gold. The souls of drowned children wandered there, drinking ambrosia, the Earth a lost memory which haunted them no more.

“Perhaps you should get some more sleep, my dear.” Aziraphale left off his caress. He reached up to pull the sash window down. 

Crowley didn’t want him to leave. Yes, they had spent the entire day together, and all the evening…he ought to return to his flat, take a break. He had never had trouble being alone. One demon on the whole Earth—it was meant to be a solitary existence. He had mastered it. Even when he returned to Hell for a report or an assignment, Crowley felt alone, for it was abundantly clear that no one down there liked him. 

While up here, his one friend could not, by his very nature, stay close for longer than a shared meal, a drink, or a short walk. Crowley might wish for more, but what was the point? This astonishing closeness—an _entire day_ , an entire night—Hell would have destroyed him for this. All those centuries, he had truly wandered the world without a hope for more than a few hours at most, from time to time, with his best friend. 

Until now. No, he had never understood the seemingly random cruelty of God’s ineffable damned plan, yet somehow that same plan had also contained innumerable moments of saving grace. Such as now, here—when the Almighty had finally brought them together, in a way he had never imagined to be possible. He didn’t want just a shared meal, a drink, a walk—he wanted a shared _life_. 

He rose from the bench. He looked into Aziraphale’s eyes and said, “Stay with me—the rest of the night.” _And the morrow, and the next night, and forever…._

The angel’s eyebrows rose. He glanced at the bed. “To sleep?”

“Yes. To sleep.” He felt weary still from the past few days—from the painful words they had spoken, from the grief of losing his best friend, from driving through fire to find him again. “Can we make the world go away again, for just a little while—together?”

At least, for the moment, it was all he needed.

Aziraphale swallowed, blinked, and then he looked at Crowley, and smiled softly. “You are wearing my pyjamas.”

Crowley smiled in return. “They’re a little loose here and there.” Then he snapped his fingers, and suddenly Aziraphale was wearing the blue satin pyjamas, while he stood clothed in ones of black silk. “How’s that?”

“Well, really.” Aziraphale pushed his lower lip out in a small pout. “I rather liked seeing you in heavenly blue.”

“Trust me, Angel—you wear it a lot better.”

“Possibly—just a little bit.”

They climbed into bed, and stretched out on their backs. Crowley felt comforted beyond measure by Aziraphale’s mere presence beside him. What a strange, long journey they had been on, and what an unexpected destination they had found at the end. 

“Angel—” He broke off at a touch, for Aziraphale clasped his hand beneath the covers.

“I’m not entirely certain that I still am an angel. Not after what you told me happened up there—though I obviously haven’t fallen, thanks to your power over them.”

“Of course you’re still an angel.” Crowley twined his fingers round Aziraphale’s. “Besides, you know that’s not why I call you that.”

He felt a light pressure as Aziraphale squeezed their joined hands. “I do know.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best angel Heaven ever had.”

“Thank you, my dear.” There was a pause before Aziraphale added, “And may I say that I think you were the _worst_ demon Hell ever had?”

Crowley turned his head to see Aziraphale looking at him with a smile of affectionate amusement. “Yeah, you’re right. Probably a good thing.”

“It’s a very good thing indeed.” Aziraphale leaned over to kiss Crowley’s forehead. “Go back to sleep.” 

“All right.”

He did sleep, very soundly, lost to the world. He woke to see the soft glow of dawn creeping in at the window, and Crowley also woke to find an angel wrapped around him—the only world he truly wanted.

Aziraphale had turned onto his side, and had flung an arm around Crowley’s waist. He had shifted over so close that he rested on Crowley’s pillow, his nose tickling Crowley’s cheek. 

And he was _sleeping_.

He looked so peaceful, so completely content, the corners of his upper lip curved ever so slightly upward. Crowley didn’t dare move, or do anything to disturb Aziraphale’s angelic slumber. He was in heaven.

As he lay there, amazed, Crowley thought about all the ways in which humans spoke to each other of love. He’d been around them long enough to have overheard a million variations, and surely there was something there which he could use. He racked his brain as the room continued to lighten, and came up empty. How to express six thousand years of affection? Hardly possible, even in the best of all possible worlds.

He sighed as he pondered what to say, until it was too late—Aziraphale stirred, shifted, opened his eyes. “Morning.”

“Mmm hmm.” Crowley gazed at the window, still lost in his quest for the right words to say.

“Crowley….”

“Hm?”

Aziraphale brushed his fingers over Crowley’s forehead. “What are you thinking about in there?” 

Well, what did it matter, really, if he already _felt_ the deepest of all affections between them? “I’m trying to figure out how to tell you that I love you.”

“Ah, I see.” Aziraphale ran those delightful fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Not having much luck with that, then?”

“Nope.” He turned a little into the embrace, bringing his arm around Aziraphale. “My first idea was to go all flowery, but that didn’t come naturally. Haven’t read enough romantic poetry.”

“Hm. Well, I can think of several lines from Shakespeare which would have suited nicely.”

_Damn._ “Didn’t think of that. Know his work pretty well, too. Sorry.”

“Pity. Oh, well.” 

“Yeah.” Yet he felt so relaxed, with this light and easy conversation, which was something Crowley had always treasured about their friendship—that they _could_ be so easy with each other despite their differences. “So, next I thought maybe I’d go for a flippant remark, like the humans do when they’re being matey in the pub with their chums. Wrong in so many ways.”

They might be easy with each other, but they could also be serious when needed—and their love was the most serious thing of all, for when they smiled or laughed together, the comfortable lightness that flowed between them sprang forth from the deepest well.

“I agree,” Aziraphale said. “We’re rather more than ‘chums’.”

“Right. So. I decided to wait, and to hope that you’d say something first, and all I’d have to do was reply.”

“Indeed—I was hoping for the same thing.”

“Oh, were you?” Crowley shook his head. “We’re a couple of idiots, aren’t we?”

He felt Aziraphale’s warm breath against his face. “I do believe we are.”

“Idiots who love each other, though, yes?” 

He felt Aziraphale’s lips brush across his cheek. “Absolutely.”

“Good.”

“I do love you, my dear.”

Not exactly flowery, but Crowley didn’t need poetry—he hadn’t needed to ponder over the right words at all. The simple truth was enough. “I love you too, Aziraphale.” 

He reached a hand round behind his friend’s head, and pulled him closer, and their lips touched in the softest, lightest, easiest kiss. 

“That was nice.” Aziraphale smiled. “I could do that again.”

They did, several times, and then Crowley said, “Can I just stay with you here? I don’t want to go back to my flat.” He tightened his embrace. “It’s not home. This is.”

“Of course you can. Of course it is.” Aziraphale stretched a bit, then nestled down again. “I believe that I could sleep every night, with you beside me. It was just as you said—everything that I didn’t wish to dwell upon vanished, and yet, _you_ stayed with me in the dark. I could sense your presence even when I could sense nothing else. I believe that I always have—everywhere I’ve been on Earth, near or far—I’ve known you were always by my side.” 

Crowley kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “It’s where I belong.”

He and Aziraphale lay there as the sun rose, washing the room in the warm light of another summer day, a perfectly ordinary sort of day. Though as far as Crowley was concerned, it was the extraordinary _first_ day of the rest of their lives.


End file.
